Читать книгу To Claim His Mistress - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 13

CHAPTER EIGHT

NEARLY a week, Cat thought, her heart lurching painfully, and still not a word from Liam.

I’ll be in touch, he’d said. But he’d made no promises about how soon the contact might be, and the need to see him again, to hear his voice and to touch him, was becoming well-nigh unbearable.

In working hours she was smiling, efficient, and determinedly busy. Even a little driven. If she could have stayed in the office twenty-four hours a day, she’d have been fine, she told herself wryly.

But at home, in the evenings, her comfortable flat became a cage, where she paced restlessly up and down, cooked meals she did not want, read books she did not remember, and watched television programmes she did not see. She was plagued continually by the idea that he’d had second thoughts about their arrangement and decided to abandon it. That one night she’d find a note pushed under her door, telling her so.

She was half tempted to go round to the flat to see if it was still set up in readiness for them, but the possibility of finding it stripped and empty held her in check. She would rather go on hoping, she thought, even when all hope was gone. And she hadn’t reached that point yet.

At other times she wondered if he was keeping her waiting deliberately, bringing her anticipation of their next encounter to a fever pitch. If so, his plan was working brilliantly, she told herself bitterly.

Even with only her memories of his lovemaking to sustain her she was in turmoil, her senses heightened almost to screaming point.

And now here it was, Friday evening, and she had the bottomless pit of the weekend gaping in front of her again. And how pathetic was that? Putting her life on hold, just in case she was summoned.

There were several other options available to her, of course, she thought, frowning. Her father and mother were still in London, after all, and it was time she saw something of them both. Or she could pay her aunt Susan a long overdue visit.

But when she rang the number it was Belinda who answered the phone. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said flatly. ‘Did you want something in particular?’

‘I thought your mother might like some company,’ Cat said. ‘I hadn’t realised you were back from your honeymoon.’

‘Well, you know now.’ Belinda hesitated. ‘And Tony’s spending the weekend here too. I gather he’s feeling a bit raw about you, so I don’t suggest you join us.’

Cat controlled herself with an effort. She said quietly, ‘Thanks for telling me,’ and rang off.

She had no better luck at the Savoy. ‘Miss Carlton is away for the weekend, madam. May we give her a message on her return?’

And the answer-machine was switched on at her father’s Kensington flat.

‘Hi, Dad,’ she said, remembering too late that he preferred her to call him David. ‘Just touching base. Call me some time.’

She changed into jeans and tee shirt, and began some determined flat-cleaning. She had just sunk down on the sofa, with a cup of coffee, to admire her shining domain, when there was a brisk knock on the door.

Cat started violently, spilling some of the coffee on to her newly vacuumed rug, then crossed the room, her heart thudding, and threw the door wide.

‘So there you are, my pet.’ Her father’s tone was breezy as he strode in. ‘I got your message.’ He kissed her on both cheeks, then held her at arms’ length to examine her critically.

‘Hmm—a little pale for midsummer. You look as if you could do with a break.’

‘Well, all holiday plans are on hold.’ Cat forced a smile, hating herself for feeling disappointed. ‘I—I’m too busy at work just now.’

‘But all alone on Friday evening?’ David Adamson clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘That won’t do, sweetheart.’

‘I’m fine.’ Cat looked past him, but there was no sign of Sharine. ‘Anyway, you seem to be on your own, too.’

‘Temporarily,’ her father returned airily. ‘I’m treating Sharine to a few days at a health farm.’

‘Oh.’ Cat digested this. ‘Is she feeling off-colour?’

‘We’ve been up in Scotland for the past week, and it rained every day. She was not impressed.’ There was a faint dryness in his tone. ‘Have you eaten?’ He handed her a bulging carrier bag. ‘I stopped off at the deli round the corner. There’s chicken Caesar salad, bread, cheese and a peach tart. Oh, and a bottle of Pouilly Fumé.’

‘Wonderful.’ Cat took the bag into the kitchen and began to unpack it. David followed her in, pouring himself a beaker of coffee and leaning against the sink.

‘So why were you in Scotland?’ she asked. ‘You surely haven’t taken up golf—or fishing?’

‘God forbid.’ David gave a smile of pure satisfaction. ‘I’ve been staying with Nevil Beverley and his wife. He’s just finishing his new play, and I’m to play the lead. That’s really why I returned from California.’ He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘I’m going back into the theatre, and Oliver Ingham is directing me. He was staying with Nevil too, and we thrashed the whole thing out.’

Cat’s brows rose. ‘Really?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you were totally dedicated to films.’

‘I was.’ Her father shrugged. ‘But it’s good to rethink—change directions occasionally.’

‘Yes,’ Cat said slowly. ‘I suppose it is.’ If it’s not too late, she thought, and bit back a sigh.

‘So, what’s the play about?’ she enquired, as they were eating. ‘I presume it’s a comedy?’

‘Shakespeare.’ David drank some wine. ‘He’s enjoying success as a playwright, and he’s fallen in love with Mary Fitton, who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s maids of honour, and possibly the Dark Lady of the sonnets as well. He has to go back to Stratford to tell his wife Anne Hathaway that their marriage is over.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘But she has other ideas, and he finds it harder to tear himself away than he thought. And then Mary Fitton comes to find him and take him back to London. And they fight for his heart and soul.’

‘Which Mary Fitton wins, presumably?’

‘Neither of them win.’ David smiled at her. ‘Because they both realise that his only real love is the theatre.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonderful script, full of poetry and emotion. I can’t wait to start rehearsals.’

Cat took some more salad. ‘So Sharine will be going back to America?’

‘On the contrary.’ David studiously avoided her gaze. ‘She’s going to play Mary Fitton.’

Cat put her fork down. ‘The Dark Lady?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Can she act?’

‘Of course,’ David said stiffly. ‘She has real talent. She read for Oliver and he was most impressed. She’ll wear a wig, naturally, but that’s no problem.’

‘None at all,’ Cat agreed drily. Just as long as you’re not planning to cast her as my stepmother as well, she thought, with an inward grimace. She paused. ‘And who’s playing Anne Hathaway?’

‘Not decided yet.’ David refilled their glasses. ‘Oliver has a few actresses in mind.’ He looked at her, frowning faintly. ‘So you’ll be seeing much more of me from now on.’ He hesitated. ‘The prospect doesn’t seem to have you jumping for joy.’

‘I’m very pleased,’ Cat said steadily. ‘I just have a lot of other things on my mind.’

David seemed in no hurry to leave. He clearly wanted to talk about the play, and Cat brewed more coffee and listened, wondering, as she did so, what her mother’s reaction would be to the news.

But I have enough problems of my own, she thought soberly, after he’d eventually gone. I can’t worry about two people who don’t even want to be in the same room with each other. And she sighed.

She was just finishing breakfast the next morning when she heard the doorbell. She went slowly to answer it, bracing herself for more disappointment.

It was the same courier standing outside, but this time he was holding a bouquet of flowers—pink, deeply scented roses and freesias. He handed her the card in its tiny envelope.

‘I’ve been told to wait for a reply, madam.’

The card said simply, ‘Tomorrow night—please?’

She buried her face in the flowers, inhaling their fragrance. Her voice was husky. ‘The message is—that—that will be fine.’

The door closed and she stood for a moment, her eyes closed. She thought, Tomorrow night. Then repeated it aloud, over and over again, her voice high with laughter as she danced round her living room, with Liam’s flowers held close against her breasts.

It seemed to Cat that Sunday night would never come. She’d spent most of Saturday morning going through her wardrobe and deciding that most of the things in it were boring, especially her underwear drawer. During the afternoon she’d gone shopping for replacements, choosing pretty lacy things in pastel colours rather than the overtly sexy gear that most of the boutiques were offering.

On Sunday she went for a walk in the park, lunched at a bistro near her flat, and tried and failed to read the newspapers. She applied a face pack, and took a long and leisurely bath, then gave herself a manicure.

She was wildly, stingingly nervous as she began to pack her overnight bag. Liam hadn’t mentioned a time, but she wanted to be ready when the car came for her.

I don’t want to waste a minute of my time with him, she told herself.

She chose one of her new bra and brief sets in white brod-erie anglaise, topping them with a linen shift dress in a soft, deep blue. She was just fastening the zip when the knock on the door came.

‘I’m coming,’ she called, as she dealt with the safety chain and undid the latch. Only to find herself confronted by her mother.

‘Hello, darling.’ Vanessa Carlton sauntered in, unfastening the jacket of her pale primrose suit. ‘They gave me your message at the hotel, so I thought I’d come round and see you. Spend a nice girlie evening together. Did you want anything special?’

‘Well, no.’ Cat swallowed her dismay. ‘It was just that I hadn’t seen you for a while and…’

‘Well, you’ll be seeing much more of me from now on.’ Vanessa disposed herself elegantly on the sofa. ‘If you’ve any Chardonnay in the fridge, I’d like some,’ she added.

‘Yes,’ Cat said mechanically. ‘Yes, of course.’ Oh, God, she wailed inwardly, as she found the corkscrew and opened the bottle. This is a disaster.

‘Could you manage to take a few hours off early next week?’ Vanessa asked, taking the glass Cat was proffering. ‘I’d really like you to come flat-hunting with me.’

‘Flat-hunting?’ Cat nearly spilled her own wine down the blue dress. ‘You can’t be tired of the Savoy, surely?’

‘No, but I don’t want to take up permanent residence either.’

‘But I thought you’d be going back to Beverly Hills?’

‘Well, normally I would be,’ Vanessa said. ‘But London’s an interesting place at the moment. There are a couple of projects I’m looking at, so I’ve decided to stay where the work is.’ She lifted her glass, an odd smile playing round her lips. ‘Cheers, darling.’

‘And what about Gil? His work’s in America, isn’t it? He won’t want to stay here.’

‘Ah, Gil,’ Vanessa said meditatively. ‘Let’s just say that negotiations are in progress.’

She leaned back against the cushions and looked her daughter up and down, her smile widening.

‘You look very nice, Cathy. That’s a good colour for you.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Would you like to go and eat somewhere?’

Cat nerved herself. ‘Actually, I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m going out already—to see friends.’

‘And taking an overnight bag, I see.’ Vanessa missed nothing. ‘These people must be incredibly—friendly.’ She paused expectantly. ‘So tell me, sweetie, are you embarking on a private life at last? And, if so, who is he?’

‘If I told you,’ Cat said steadily, ‘it would no longer be private.’ And how can I tell you what I don’t even know myself?

‘Wow.’ Vanessa lifted her eyebrows. ‘If you want to hug it to yourself as a closely guarded secret it must be important.’ She paused. ‘As a concerned mother, don’t I get even a teensy clue?’

Cat gave her an ironic look. ‘Is that how you see yourself?’

Vanessa was unoffended. ‘Let’s just say it’s a new role that I’m considering—among others.’

As the door sounded she gave Cat a triumphant look. ‘And I think your secret life just hit the dust, my sweet.’

The driver was waiting impassively outside.

‘I’m sorry, but I have an unexpected visitor,’ Cat apologised in a low voice. ‘I’ll get a cab as soon as she’s gone.’

‘I have my instructions, madam.’ His smile was polite.

‘And no other appointments, so there’s no hurry. Whenever you’re ready.’

Cat turned back into the room to find Vanessa standing at the window.

‘Nice car, darling. Is that what Cinderella’s coach looks like these days? No sign of Prince Charming unfortunately,’ she added, moving back to the sofa and refilling her glass. ‘I shall just have to live in hope.’ And she sat down, crossing her legs with a seraphic smile.

Cat bit her lip. ‘Mother, the driver’s waiting for me. I—I really need to go.’

Vanessa tutted. ‘Piece of maternal advice, my pet. Don’t seem too eager.’

‘Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen?’ Cat queried coolly. ‘Isn’t that a little dated?’

Her mother laughed. ‘Don’t you believe it. So, just relax and drink your wine, while we work out a day for flat-hunting. I’m quite serious about this.’

She was quite serious about a number of things, Cat thought resignedly as she sat down and reached for her glass.

She said, ‘The hotel said you’d gone away for the weekend. Was it anywhere special?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘A get-together with old friends. I had a wonderful time.’

‘Did you take your—Gil?’

‘He had people of his own to see.’ Vanessa gave her an amused glance. ‘We’re not joined at the hip, you know.’

She began to chat inconsequentially about a fashion show she’d attended, an exhibition opening soon at the National Gallery, a play she’d seen, long past its shelf-life.

It was all light-hearted stuff, faintly spiced with malice, and at any other time Cat would have sat back and enjoyed the performance. But not now. As the time relentlessly approached the hour she was on tenterhooks, in case Liam grew tired of waiting for her.

And when her mother finally put down her glass, and reached a leisurely hand for her bag, Cat could have shouted aloud in relief.

‘So why don’t you come to the Savoy on Tuesday morning?’ Vanessa suggested as they walked to the door. ‘We can go and look at the flats the agents have found for me, and then have lunch at Vanni’s.’

Cat had been working a lot of extra hours lately. Andrew was not likely to object to her having some time off, she thought.

‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘Shall we say around ten?’

‘Well, certainly not before,’ Vanessa said with a touch of acerbity, then paused. ‘I suppose cabs are the usual nightmare round here? Perhaps your driver would take me on to the hotel after he’s dropped you at your assignation,’ she added innocently.

Nice try, Ma, thought Cat. ‘I think he’d find it easier to go via the Savoy,’ she returned evenly, catching a glimpse of chagrin in her mother’s eyes. ‘Otherwise, no problem.’

Except that it meant she was going to be later than ever, she realised, as, with Vanessa duly delivered, the car threaded its way back through the evening traffic in the West End.

The flat was quiet when she let herself in, but she could see a narrow ribbon of light under the sitting room door. So he had waited after all, she thought, her heart leaping.

She was rehearsing her apology as she opened the door and went in, then paused, the words dying on her lips.

Liam was lying back in the corner of the sofa, one arm thrown along the top of the cushions, eyes closed, his breathing soft and regular, so fast asleep that he didn’t stir as she shut the door behind her, or even when she said his name. Twice.

His jacket was on the floor, along with his tie, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked comfortable and extremely peaceful, she decided as she took her case through to the bedroom. But it wasn’t the reception she’d expected by any means.

When she returned, he still hadn’t stirred. Cat stood watching him for a moment, then kicked off her shoes and curled up beside him, resting her cheek against his chest, breathing the unique male scent of him.

He murmured something indistinguishable and his arm encircled her shoulders, drawing her nearer. She responded instantly, nestling closer and sliding her hand inside his shirt, relishing the warm, smooth texture of his skin under her palm and the deep, steady beat of his heart.

She would let him go on sleeping for a little while, she thought, and then she would kiss him awake, so that their time together could begin. But for the moment she felt curiously, almost luxuriously content. And even a little drowsy herself.

Which was ridiculous, of course, she told herself firmly, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was the bedroom window, with sunlight seeping through the curtains. The next was her blue dress, draped over a chair.

And the third was Liam, beside her in the bed, propped up on one elbow as he watched her.

He said, ‘Good morning,’ and there was amusement in his voice. ‘I was jet-lagged. What’s your excuse?’

Cat shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. What happened?’

‘I woke up on the sofa, around two a. m., and found you in my arms, dead to the world. So I carried you in here, and put you to bed.’

She stared at him. ‘You took my dress off—and I slept through it? How did you manage that?’

His faint smile became a wicked grin. ‘Years of practice, darling,’ he drawled, and moved with the speed of light to grab the pillow from her hand before she could hit him with it.

‘Actually, I think you’d have slept through the Last Trumpet,’ he went on, drawing her into his arms. ‘Whereas I was unusually restless, having seen those lacy scraps under your dress. But I didn’t trust myself to dispose of them as well.’

Cat smiled against his shoulder. ‘I’m glad they weren’t completely wasted.’ She pressed her lips to his skin and began to move down his body, feathering a trail of soft, beguiling kisses. ‘Maybe we could still make use of them.’

Liam halted her with a groan of regret. ‘Darling, we can’t. Have you seen the time? I have early meetings.’

‘Hell.’ Cat gave her watch a despairing glance. ‘I should be out of here too. Oh, I can’t bear it.’

Liam bent his head, kissing her mouth with rueful hunger. ‘Would it break any rules if we met again tonight?’ he murmured. ‘I promise to stay awake this time.’

‘I’d love to,’ Cat whispered back. ‘But only if you also promise to stay all night.’

‘Agreed.’ He kissed her again. ‘But on one condition. That you bring an alarm clock.’

Cat lay watching him search for his clothes, nerving herself. At last she said, ‘Talking of rules…’

‘Mmm?’ He was buttoning his shirt, but he shot her a lightning glance.

‘I don’t really need a car and a chauffeur to get me here,’ she said. ‘I can make it on my own.’

‘He’ll be here for you shortly,’ he said. ‘But it can be the last time, if that’s what you want.’

‘Please.’ She paused. ‘Also, I got held up last night, and there was no way to warn you. So—maybe—it would be sensible to exchange mobile phone numbers—for emergencies.’

Liam looked at her, brows raised. ‘I thought that was exactly what you didn’t want?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘We’re both busy people, and—things happen. I don’t want any misunderstandings either. Numbers only,’ she added hastily. ‘No other details, of course.’

‘Naturally.’ There was a note of irony in his voice. ‘And emergencies only. Then let’s do it.’

Cat was thoughtful when he’d gone. It had hardly been an eager concession on his part. It seemed that he’d really bought into the idea of separate lives.

But then, so have I, she reminded herself. I didn’t ask what had caused his jet-lag. He didn’t ask why I was late. And that’s a kind of trust—isn’t it?

How will I ever know? she thought. And sighed.

She had just come out of a meeting, and was returning to her desk via the coffee machine, when her mobile phone rang.

She looked at the screen with a kind of stunned disbelief as she answered.

‘Liam—has something happened?’ She swallowed. ‘Can’t you make it this evening after all?’

‘Nothing like that. I just needed to hear your voice.’

She realised she was smiling absurdly, her face warming. She tried to sound severe. ‘That’s hardly an emergency.’

‘You have your definition,’ he said softly. ‘I have mine. And I want you to know I’m counting the hours until tonight.’

‘Me too.’ Her voice was husky, shaking a little.

After they’d disconnected, she sat staring at the little electronic miracle in her hand. My lifeline, she thought, to him. And he’d called her.

‘You’re very cheerful this morning,’ Megs commented on her way past. ‘You must be on a promise.’

Cat returned a dutiful smile as she slipped her phone back into her bag.

How wrong can you be? she thought, dragging herself back down to earth with painful effort. There were no promises—no commitment. Just this one tenuous and strictly temporary link.

So I’ll have to make the most of it, she told herself soberly. For as long as it lasts.